


Roots Half Hidden

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:24:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of an accident in the forge leads to a somewhat surprising revelation.  </p><p>Set before Mairon’s fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roots Half Hidden

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out I spoke too soon! I have two more stories for you lovely people - this one here, and another still being worked on. Perhaps my inspiration will hold out a little longer! This is set before Mairon’s fall/seduction, and is placed along the same line as _Fire That’s Closest Kept_ and _Dance the Edge_.
> 
> Enjoy!

Mairon leaned back into the many pillows stacked against the headboard of his elegantly carved bed and turned his face to the open window. A breeze fluttered in through the soft curtains, moving them just enough to catch a glimpse of the large tree outside. He sighed, lips curling down into a frown. The scents of earth, flowers and leaves, dirt and grass, came in on the wind, and he rolled fully to his side to gaze through the large panes his now-gone caretaker had left wide.

It had only been a small accident, truly. A great roar and a fairly loud explosion, but nothing that required _rest_. He had already shifted the burns from his face; they may as well have never happened at all. And his hand - well. 

He lifted his arm at full length to stare down at his bandaged fingers and palm, and could see blistered red flesh peeking out from the cotton wrappings. Marks crept up his wrist, already beginning to heal, and he would remove them completely once he felt less…less _exhausted_ , if he even let the word ring with a bit of honesty. But the wounds themselves were nothing at all. A nuisance keeping him locked away from where he wanted to be.

He bent his uninjured arm up flat under his pillow to give his head more support, bringing his eyes once again out the window and to the leaves of the tree moving so gently on their branches. Even if he was barred from the forge until he was fully ‘healed’ (though he scoffed at the word, given he would be just fine very soon indeed), he longed to at least be out of this room, out of the bed he spent so little time in anyway.

The soft sound of the latch releasing on the door was the only indication he had of someone entering, and he raised himself enough to look over his shoulder just as a cloaked, huddled figure came into his room. Mairon sat up fully, eyebrows narrowing first in confusion and then very much in annoyance as his new companion came to his full height and pulled back the hood of his cloak.

“May I help you?” he asked sourly, tugging the light blankets closer to his hips. It was an unnecessary motion, but one he couldn’t help.

Melkor noticed his slight fidgeting and grinned. “No,” he replied. “No exactly. I wanted to see with my own eyes if the rumors I heard in the halls were true.”

“And what rumors would those be?” Mairon snapped irritably. 

“That the Great Forge collapsed several hours ago,” he said, tone nonchalant as he leaned back against the closed door and crossed his arms. “And that you were injured in the chaos of it all. But you look very well to me, don’t you, foul mood and all quite intact. Even if you are lounging here rather than gallivanting off somewhere. Which _is_ odd, I suppose. I have never seen your quarters before, have I?” 

Melkor pushed off the door and took a few paces further into the room, looking around with interest. There wasn’t much to see. It was a very normal room, with very normal furniture found in any Maia’s room. A bed, shelving and cabinets, a work desk with a matching chair, a beautiful mirror over the chest of drawers. Those large windows framed with silken curtains draped down to the stone floor. Very, very normal. But then, Mairon did have several books and small personal projects of metal or stone, many notebooks filled with tidy writing stacked on the desk, a little case of jewelry that had failed expectations in the forge and so ended up here when he didn't have the heart to melt them back down. It wasn’t much, but these were the things that drew Melkor’s attention, and Mairon sat up straighter in bed, wanting to stand.

“I would appreciate you not touch anything,” he said, almost at a loss. This was his private space. No one had ever bothered him here, and he felt very at odds just then.

Melkor drew his hand back just as he was about to run a finger over a lovely book on a nearby shelf. It was bound with golden wire along the spine, the pages cut perfectly by a talented hand. “As you wish.”

“Thank you,” Mairon murmured with a frown, watching as Melkor continued to look around for another few seconds before turning those icy eyes back onto him. He leaned back against his pillows again, reaching for something to say when the tone between them felt thickened, like honey crystalizing with age. It was not necessarily unpleasant, though that made it all the worse. 

“How did you know where to find me?”

“I asked,” Melkor said simply. “I was looking for you in the forge and saw the remnants of quite a large mess, so I demanded an explanation from one of the Maia there cleaning.”

“And he just _told you_ where my quarters are, without question?” Irritation came back swiftly, and he scowled as this sunk in. “That was really quite dim of him. Although I must say, I am surprised he even knew at all.” He chuckled mirthlessly and brought his gaze up to meet Melkor’s. “Are you even supposed to be here? Suppose the Maia you asked says something to Lord Aulë, that he saw you.”

“I am truly touched at your concern,” Melkor said with a wide smile that spoke more than his words, and Mairon flushed as he realized how his comment sounded. “But not to worry, the little lad will not say a word. I put quite a fear in him, if I say so myself.”

“Fear of what?”

“Fear of death, destruction, undoing - the usual of my defamed character. Our secret meeting is quite safe, I am sure.”

Silence fell, and Mairon was suddenly even more uncomfortable with his bandaged hand, sitting in bed and very far from the same casual footing as his companion. At least his face was no longer covered in gauze or ointments, or even the mere remnants of burn. But then - this company was nice, was it not? When he had been sequestered away from the world for far too long, when no one else had cared to look in on him… He took the thought and pushed it down very firmly. Company or no, this was inappropriate. Each one of their meetings were.

“May I ask, Mairon, what happened?”

The question was quiet, and he looked up again to find an unsettling expression on the Vala’s face. It could almost have passed for concern, if Mairon believed Melkor was capable of such emotional depth beyond what everyone painted him as.

He paused a moment longer before letting out a deep breath, holding up that bandaged hand with the burned fingers for them both to see. “The rumors are correct in the fact that the forge collapsed,” he said softly, the explanation coming far more easily than he expected. “Lord Aulë found a new mineral he wanted me to work with, and it was a bit more volatile than either of us thought it would be. It reacted violently when broken down in the flames. There was a terrible explosion.”

“And so you _were_ injured - that part of the rumor is true, as well?”

“Obviously.” He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from his chest at that, even as he remembered the swell of flames before his face, licking his skin and burning the flesh away. It had been painful, certainly, though not enough to scare him away from returning. Nothing would. The forge was his lifeblood, the fire and earth all he lived for. He shook his head against the memory, turning his eyes up to Melkor’s and seeing that bizarre wave of concern again. “I was standing right there, wasn’t I? Of course I was taken in by the fire and crumbling stone. I contained most of it, if the rumors did not include _that_ part of the adventure. I stopped the damage from taking down the entire crafting hall before Lord Aulë arrived.”

“Though you were damaged in the event,” Melkor said rather stiffly, “even if it was only your hand and arm to suffer for Aulë’s incompetence.”

“I would not call it incompetence,” Mairon retorted immediately, already defensive enough and not adding to the tally of wounds with the mention of his healed face. “Lord Aulë and I were both to blame for the incident. I should have done more research with the stone before - ”

“Such folly, doubting your own actions and taking those away from the one who should have been watching for you. _Protecting_ you from dangers like these!” Mairon was taken aback by the vehemence in his words and did nothing to interrupt as Melkor continued, turning to pace across the room away from the bed. “Allowing his own Great Forge to collapse without even being there! All for what - an experiment he wanted to try, without dirtying his own hands! Your loyalty is misplaced.”

Mairon moved to stand, halting himself quickly and staying where he was half-sitting on the mattress. “Just a moment, now, that assessment is not a fair one! Lord Aulë simply gave me something new to work with, and I was pleased to do it. Would you say the same of my own projects, the risks I take without my lord looking over my shoulder when I attempt something new on my own? How else am I - are _we_ supposed to gain new knowledge, or continue creating such beautiful things, without experiment?”

He wasn’t sure what prompted him to speak the way he did, the defensiveness growing until he could not hold it back. Aulë was his teacher, and he held no ill-will against him for what happened. It had not even occurred to him to do so. This was all too odd a discussion and he did not know what else to say. Melkor stopped his steps near the desk, staring down at his notebooks. One was open to whatever notes he had made after his last hours in the forge, and he almost called out to request he not read the page. But it was clear he was not reading anything, his mind occupied elsewhere.

Suddenly he turned back, and Mairon could see that hint of worry - nearly outright concern - pulling his lips tight. It appeared as though he was going to speak again and he readied himself for a fierce outburst for pushing as he had. Instead, however, the tension in Melkor’s face eased as their eyes met.

“Lie back down.” 

Melkor waved his hand in Mairon’s direction, his tone almost gentle now as the rigidity left his posture. That was obviously not what he had intended to say. Still, Mairon pulled his legs up under the blankets even if he did not lean back against the pillows again, watching as Melkor came away from the desk. Whatever argument had risen was gone, and he pressed against the side of the footboard.

Melkor gestured to his bandaged hand, bringing the arm back quickly to cross both around his abdomen. “When will this be healed, then?”

It struck him very suddenly that the worry he had seen was for _him_ , not the situation or any variation thereof, and his mind lost the words forming there for an answer as this parsed through. Whatever odd relation they had created, Melkor barging into the forge when he was alone or pestering him when he was supposed to be focusing on other things, laughing when he asked to be left to work - he had never, in all the time he had allowed it continue, imagined this exiled lord in his own right had any sense of care for another. It left him almost flustered, and he searched quickly for something to say when he recalled a question had been left.

“Soon,” he said before the silence could stretch any further. “Or - or now, perhaps. I might be rested enough to restore the skin.” 

Without pausing, he reached up and began unravelling gauze from the burns. Honestly, he was not sure just yet if he could, but Melkor’s discomfited energy was wearing into him and he wanted to settle it, ease it away as best he could. He was not used to such concern and wished to be rid of it for them both.

His skin was still very blistered, red and raw under the cotton, and Melkor reached out for his hand as he drew the dressings away. He hesitated only for a moment before allowing him to take it, very gently, into his own and turn it over in investigation, eyes taking in every charred piece of wounded flesh. He didn’t speak, and Mairon pulled away again.

It only took a few seconds of concentration - more than shapeshifting usually required, though exhaustion was finally starting to fade away - before his skin rippled and pulled, refreshing itself as it turned new again.

“You see?” he said as he finished, holding up his freshly healed arm. “All is well once more.”

“I suppose it is,” Melkor murmured, taking his hand to examine. His fingers were cool against the newly repaired skin, and Mairon watched them brush over his arm down his palm, checking still for anything out of place.

“May I have my arm back?”

Melkor released him, and Mairon dropped his hand to his lap. Another breeze rustled the curtains and he looked toward them, ignoring the lingering chill on his hot skin. Melkor was still standing close, his presence very strong - just as it always was.

“Will you be returning to the forge soon?” he asked quietly, the question pulled with something unsaid.

“I’d like to, yes.” 

Mairon looked up to find Melkor staring down at him, and he held the gaze. That flash of almost-concern swept through and disappeared, and after a beat Melkor stepped back from the bed toward the door, already reaching to tug the hood of his cloak up over his head. His eyes never left Mairon’s face.

“I believe I will always be impressed with your skill,” he said, pausing with his hand on the door handle. “Containing devastation such as that and surviving -” He smirked and shook his head, turning away now to release the latch. 

“I will look for you in the forge the next time I...am in the area.”

He left before Mairon had a chance to comment, sweeping silently from the room and closing the door behind him to leave emptiness in his wake. Mairon’s skin was still tingling with cold where he had touched his arm, and he pulled it to cradle against his chest.

 _In the area_ , truly? It was becoming more and more apparent that the only reason he still returned to these halls at all was to…

But that was not a thought Mairon was willing to chase. Not yet, not now. He gazed down at his healed skin for a moment longer before leaning back into the pillows once more, turning his eyes to the window to stare at the gently waving branches of the lovely tree just outside.


End file.
